


Something Different

by FictionAddiction23



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Siblings, Angst, Awkward Tension, Blow Jobs, Cheesy, DTR, Drama, Drinking, Drunk Driving PSA in Disguise, Drunken Confessions, Eventual Relationships, Feels, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, Kuina is already dead, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mild Smut, Misunderstandings, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Passion, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 12:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14544492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionAddiction23/pseuds/FictionAddiction23
Summary: Zoro is home alone on New Year's Eve when he is interrupted by a drunk Sanji. The cook doesn't understand why Zoro is always avoiding his friends instead of celebrating the holiday. His mission: To get to the bottom of the marimo's strange, antisocial habit.His REAL mission: To get a certain secret off of his chest...





	Something Different

**Author's Note:**

> A New Year's AU fanfic that somehow turned into a mini PSA for drunk driving. Stay safe everyone, and enjoy more ZoSan! :D

It was eleven o’clock on New Year’s Eve, and Zoro was at home. He hadn’t felt like going out to a random bar and getting blackout wasted like he usually did at this time of year. Something had caused him to pause before leaving the house, and he’d been swept back inside by the sudden desire for something different. There was really no point in losing himself among a crowd of strangers (and that’s what they were, since he purposely never went out for New Year’s with his friends) when he could just as easily, and more cheaply, drink himself into a stupor at home.

The only reason he usually preferred to go out was because his living room had pictures of _her_ all over the place, but this was the first time in too many years that he felt like maybe it wouldn’t be as painful to get drunk in the safety of their childhood home and stare at her smiling face. He still missed her so much, but time apparently _did_ heal wounds, or it at least made a slow procession towards feeling okay, even though it wasn’t okay and never would be.

Six shots of vodka and a fifth of Jack later, and Zoro was abruptly reminded of why else he usually chose to drink out when the doorbell rang—loud and shrill—cutting into his silent melancholy. His father was away on a business trip in Japan, and he doubted that his deadbeat mother had miraculously returned after five years, so he couldn’t guess as to who would be rapping on his door in between the obnoxious ringing of the bell.

When he finally dragged himself off the couch, flicked on the light in his front hall and swung the door open, he blinked in confusion at the handsome face that greeted him—much too casually considering he was the _last_ person whom Zoro expected to see.

“Oh, so you _were_ home. What took you so damn long—it’s cold out here, you know. Did you get lost trying to find your own front door, moss-head?”

Zoro rubbed his eyes to clear them, but the blond didn’t disappear into his drunken haze—not that he was anything more than moderately buzzed this early into the night. He was about to ask the other man what he was doing here, but there were only two logical reasons that he could think of. He started with the most concerning.

“What happened, is everyone alright?” he asked, relieved when Sanji looked at him like he was stupid—well, stupider than usual.

“Uh, everyone’s fine. I just came from Nami’s party, which you very rudely decided not to show up to—for the third year in a row, but who’s counting?” the cook told him irately. “And you didn’t answer any of my messages. What gives, asshole?”

Ah. It was the other reason then. “I was busy,” Zoro snapped, a little too harshly.

He hadn’t meant it to come out quite so sharp, but he was irrationally pissed at the moment, and it showed in his tone. It had never used to bother him when the cook would hit him up for a quickie and then slip out (or kick _him_ out) after it was over. They’d been fucking on the down-low for well over a year now, but neither of them had wanted it to be public, so the casual interactions worked. He also knew that it was completely unwarranted for him to be mad at the cook when the other man had no idea why Zoro wanted to be alone on New Year’s Eve.

“Busy, huh? ‘Cuz it kind of looks like you’ve been sitting on your couch drinking in your underwear…unless there’s a wild party happening _real_ quietly in there that you forgot to invite me to.”

Zoro glanced down at himself and shrugged. He’d been so annoyed by the ringing doorbell that he hadn’t thought to put on pants before answering it. Sanji gave him a quick once-over, his gaze lingering an extra second on the swordsman’s bare chest before piercing him with an are-you-going-to-explain-yourself look. Both gestures pissed Zoro off even more.

“I didn’t realize that you needed me to send a picture of my middle finger to know when to piss off. I’m not interested tonight, Cook.”

“You don’t have to be fucking rude. I just came to make sure you were alright or whatever. You might’ve gotten away with excuses every other year, but everyone put a lot of work into this party, and you didn’t even try to come up with a good lie to get out of it. Why don’t you ever come out with us on New Year’s?”

“It’s none of your business. Why aren’t _you_ at the party if it’s so damn important?”

“I just told you. I came to check on you.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize that my mother got a sex change and has apparently been posing as a shit-cook for the past three years. I don’t need you to check on me—I’m not a kid.”

“Whatever, smartass. Are you gonna let me in or not? It’s cold.”

“You think I give a shit if you’re _cold?”_

“But I brought your favourite,” Sanji told him, revealing a beautiful unopened bottle of Kraken from the messenger bag that was slung across his waist.

Zoro sighed, wishing he were in a better mood to just accept the delicious rum and have crazy-hot sex until they passed out. Any other night maybe, but not on New Year’s Eve.

“Didn’t you hear me the first time? I don’t want to fuck. Just go back to the party—I’m sure you’ll get laid if you join the others when they go bar-hopping.”

Sanji just looked at him and wordlessly handed over the bottle. Zoro reached out to take it automatically, his fingers brushing the cook’s as they wrapped around the neck. He met the other man’s eyes questioningly when the long, pale fingers remained resting under his own instead of releasing the bottle. 

“Um…c-can I still come inside?” he asked quietly, surprising the other man.

“Why?” Zoro replied, genuinely perplexed. His response was too automatic, which seemed to embarrass the cook, whose already rosy cheeks instantly darkened.

“I didn’t actually come here to fuck,” he admitted, releasing the bottle to shove his hands into the warm pockets of his coat.

Zoro felt his eyebrows raise in disbelief. If he hadn’t already asked the other man if everyone were alright, then he might’ve been worried about their friends’ wellbeing. Instead he was just very, very confused.

“Well, what do you want then?” he fired back, causing Sanji to shoot him an offended scowl.

“Nothing! You weren’t at the party, and I wasn’t falling for the stupid story that you gave Nami, so I came over here to ask you why you’re apparently allergic to fun,” he snapped.

“Bullshit, you always want something from me—and what are you even talking about? I didn’t give Nami any story.”

“I asked her why you always miss our New Year’s parties, and she said you were with your sister, but I distinctly remember you telling me when we first met that you didn’t have any siblings,” Sanji explained, gesturing to the swordsman’s boxers with an accusatory sweep of his hand. “I doubt you’d be sitting in your living room dressed like _that_ if your sister were visiting.”

Zoro froze instantly, his face paling. He knew that it wasn’t Sanji’s fault—the cook was among many people who didn’t know what had happened to the swordsman’s late sister, so he couldn’t have anticipated how much it would hurt to hear Kuina casually brought into a conversation like this—but he still wanted to slam the door in the other man’s face. Just when he’d thought he could get through the anniversary of her death without grieving, the stupid cook had to show up and accuse him of inventing a sister to get out of hanging out with them.

He also found it difficult to believe that the blond hadn’t come looking for a fuck, so he couldn’t help but wonder if Sanji’s real reason for stopping by and badgering him about this supposed excuse was because he’d been hoping to get his dick wet, but the easy option hadn’t shown up to the party.

“Technically Nami wasn’t lying to you, so I’m sorry if you walked all the way here because I _am_ busy,” he repeated firmly.

“Like I’d walk six blocks in this weather—my car’s parked outside. If you’re not too busy to join your friends, you should come back with me. There’s more rum where that came from,” Sanji suggested, his face half-buried in his scarf to block the cold air. Zoro looked more closely at him and felt a sudden spike of anger when he realized that the cook was intoxicated.

“You drove here? But you just said that you came from Nami’s. How much did you drink?”

“Relax. I’d just gotten there, so I’d only had a few beers. Who’s whose mother now?”

“A _few_ beers? Are you fucking kidding me? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” Zoro snapped, surprising the other man with his aggressiveness.

“Woah, you don’t have to bite my head off. It was barely a five-minute drive. It’s not a big—”

“You can get off my fucking porch right now if you finish that sentence in front of me,” he growled. Something in his expression warned the cook that he was treading on thin ice, and Sanji immediately shut his mouth, looking at the swordsman oddly.

“Okay…that was a whole new level of pissed for you, so why don’t you tell me what the fuck’s got you so twisted up tonight?”

“It’s—”

“And if you tell me it’s none of my business then I _will_ drive back to that party, and I’ll tell everyone that you need an intervention ASAP.”

“Fucking bastard. I’ll say it’s none of your business if I want to, because _it’s none of your business._ I don’t understand why you’re here. Go ahead and drive if you’re that stupid—I’ll call the cops and give them your license plate, Mr. LOVECOOK.”

“I just wanted to see you, okay?!” Sanji blurted wildly, the words pouring out faster than Zoro could comprehend them. “We always have so much fun on New Year’s, and...and you’re never around. When I heard that bullshit about your sister, I decided to butt in and make you join us for once, but you always have to make everything so damn difficult! Is that really so horrible—for someone to give a shit whether you’re missing or not?”

If Zoro had been thinking clearly, he might have been shocked by the cook’s uncharacteristic admission of wanting to see him and caring about his whereabouts, but as he was, he was so overcome with rage at the other man’s continued accusations that he snapped a reply before he could properly think through how cruel it was to shove the truth in the other man’s face so bluntly.

“Her name is Kuina, you jackass. My sister was killed on New Year’s Eve when I was sixteen—hit by a drunk driver on the way home from a party,” he said stonily.

Sanji visibly jerked as though Zoro had hit him. His already pale skin went even whiter, eyes going wide with alarm. There was a beat of silence in which they both stood still, Zoro waiting for the cook to say something and the blond apparently not knowing what to say.

“Are you fucking happy now?”

“I—I—”

Sanji struggled to form a response, and suddenly Zoro felt horrible for yelling at him when he was clearly trying to stutter out a genuine apology. Seeing the panicked, pitiful look in the cook’s eye made his anger deflate all at once, and what replaced it was a bone-deep tiredness and a strong desire to crack open the rum and down it all in one go.

With a guilty sigh, he looked into the cook’s shell-shocked expression and said, “Look, I didn’t mean to unload all of that on you. This is sort of a difficult time for me to be celebrating. You should go back to the party and say hello to the others for me. Just…call a cab or something, alright?”

He made to step back and close the door, which seemed to snap Sanji out of his state of shock. “Wait, wait, wait!” he got out, wedging a foot in the doorframe. As soon as Zoro opened it an inch more, the cook reached out to gently catch the swordsman’s forearm with his hands.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come—it’s just…there’s something else that I wanted to talk to you about. I can leave if you really want me to, but I’d still like to come inside,” he said in a rush.

Zoro paused at the other man’s touch and had to repress a shiver—for once, not because of arousal; Sanji’s fingers were like ice from the cold winter air, which made the swordsman realize that he simply couldn’t tell his lover to fuck off when he was in this state, especially not if there were a chance that the blond would be angry enough to ignore his advice and get back in his car. Zoro couldn’t imagine anything worse than the cook getting into some sort of accident like the one that had killed his sister.

He couldn’t help but think about the man who’d hit Kuina with his car. He hadn’t been a bad person as far as the swordsman could tell, just an eighteen-year-old kid—the same age as his unintentional victim—who’d made a bad decision resulting in a serious consequence. Zoro remembered how his anger had faded away once he’d learned that the guy killed himself out of guilt afterwards. It hurt to think of the cook ending up in a situation like that. He would tear himself apart if he ever hurt a lady—or _anyone_ for that matter—so Zoro wasn’t about to turn the other man away if there were even the slightest possibility that Sanji might get behind the wheel with liquor in his system when so many people would be wandering around the city tonight.

“It’s fine. Come in,” he said briskly, slipping out of the cook’s hold to open the door for him.

“Y-you’re sure it’s okay?” Sanji asked hesitantly.

“Shut up and get inside before you freeze to death, idiot.”

“I don’t even feel it.”

“That’s ‘cuz you’ve been drinking,” Zoro told him gruffly, motioning for the other man to follow him into the living room. Sanji paused to hang his coat and bag by the front door, his motions slightly unsteady as he walked to where the swordsman had sat down on the couch. He only hesitated for a second before taking a seat beside him and gesturing at the half-empty bottle of vodka that Zoro had been taking shots from.

“Can I have some of that?”

“Are you sure you haven’t had enough, lightweight?”

“Not for what I’m about to say. Please?” he pressed, reaching for the liquor immediately once the swordsman nodded in acquiescence.

“There’s soda in the fridge if you want…to…” His words trailed off, and he watched with a detached sense of amazement as the cook tipped the bottle back and swallowed four times in quick succession. Zoro knew that Sanji didn’t drink liquor straight—at least not since high school, and he had always ended up puking his guts out afterward. “Um…”

“Just give me a minute, marimo. I need to prepare myself.”

“What the hell, Cook?”

He took another few swigs of vodka, his face scrunching comically as the taste hit him. “Ugh. I fucking hate drinking that shit,” he complained, voice gravelly.

“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?” Zoro asked him with growing concern. The other man sank back into the couch with a defeated slump, turning his cheek against the backrest to stare at the swordsman’s confused expression.

“I'm not sure I should after what you just told me. It was selfish to ask you to talk about this tonight, but I’m afraid that if I don’t bring it up while I’m sufficiently uninhibited then it’s just gonna fester until I finally snap and strangle you in bed—and not in a fun way,” he added wryly.

“Wha—did I do something to you that warrants the contemplation of homicide?!” he asked, flabbergasted.

“No, it’s the opposite. You did everything I told you to.”

“That doesn’t sound very accurate considering our volatile relationship.”

“I was more so referring to this…arrangement that we have.”

“Sparring with benefits?”

Sanji let out a brief laugh and put his face in his hands. “Yeah. That.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I think…whatever we’re doing…it needs to end.”

Zoro stared straight ahead, rocked by the sudden wave of hurt that swept over him at the cook’s words. He had always known that it wouldn’t last between them, but he hadn’t expected Sanji to break it off in a drunken confession—and on the anniversary of Kuina’s death, too. He also hadn’t expected to feel so disappointed, and dejected, and…and _angry._

Who the hell did this bastard think he was? Blowing up Zoro’s phone, coming to his house unannounced, reminding him of his past trauma, and then telling him that he wanted to stop fucking just when the swordsman had actually been getting used to their so-called _arrangement?_

No, he hadn’t been getting used to it, not really—he’d just decided to accept it for what it was even though something had long-since changed to make him regret ever agreeing to such an impersonal relationship in the first place.

The anger returned swiftly, swelling inside him until it reached a breaking point. The sound of the cook’s voice seemed to fade into background noise as the swordsman's muscles locked, his entire body becoming still like a statue on the couch.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I realized something at the party. I can’t keep doing this if—”

“Then don’t,” Zoro cut in. “I honestly don’t care one way or the other. I think it was a mistake to agree to having this conversation right now. I’ll call you a cab myself—do whatever you want,” he said flippantly, praying that the other man wouldn’t be able to tell that he was lying through his teeth.

Zoro’s heart thumped at the injured expression that flitted across Sanji’s face, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to deal with this unexpected blow to his ego. It shouldn’t hurt so much, but it did, and he was a fucking _idiot_ for letting the blond get under his skin like this. He just wanted to be left alone so that he could finish the rest of the booze in his house and escape the traitorous thoughts filling his head.

“Say it again,” Sanji said weakly, piercing the swordsman with an accusatory glare.

“What?”

“Fucking _say it again_ , and I’ll leave. Tell me that you don’t care what I have to say, and I’ll gladly let you to drink yourself to death!” he spat out, slamming the bottle of vodka back onto the table with a bang. He paused in that position with his hand wrapped around the neck, knuckles white and back hunched diminutively. Zoro didn’t repeat himself; he didn’t think he could—the lie had left a bad taste in his mouth and an ache in his chest that choked his words.

Sanji sighed and leaned back into the couch, casting an indignant look at the swordsman. “You didn’t even let me finish…fucking asshole.”

“What else is there to say? Don’t you know that I expected you to do this? I’ve been waiting for it ever since the first time. It was never going to work—"

“Well, why not?!” Sanji snapped aggressively, silencing the other man. “I came here because I want something different, and you’re too big of a jerk to even listen!”

“I—excuse me?”

“You’re probably right—it _isn’t_ going to work. I can’t keep doing this the way we have been, and you can’t even _imagine_ that I might not want to. It was a train-wreck waiting to happen,” he said spitefully.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean you ‘want something different’?”

“…”

“Oi, Cook.”

“…”

“Fuck—Sanji, tell me what you mean!”

“Oh, so _now_ you want me to finish?” he snapped childishly.

“I thought I knew what you were gonna say.”

“Yeah. Maybe you should try not to think so much—it’ll strain your tiny brain muscles.”

“Just explain what the hell you want from me, or fuck off, because you’re preventing me from getting properly shit-faced.”

“It’s just…different now, okay?” Sanji told him, seeming uncomfortable but determined nonetheless. “It’s been on my mind for a while, but it wasn’t until tonight that I really understood it myself, and the assumptions you made when I showed up tonight…They bother me in a way that they never used to,” he admitted, avoiding Zoro’s surprised eyes and continuing before the swordsman could react. “You talked to me as though I didn’t give a shit if you were busy because you assumed all I wanted was to get laid—it’s my fault for falling into the same fucking routine whenever we do it. Everything was fine for a while, since we both agreed to keep things casual, and neither of us wanted people to know about it, but lately you've been acting like I'm just expecting you to be my personal whore.”

“You say that like it isn’t what I signed up for,” Zoro responded with a bitter laugh. “That’s basically what I am, except you don’t have to pay me.”

“What the fuck does that make me, then?! You don’t pay me either—it’s _insane_ that we even have to discuss this!”

“Then why the hell are we? What do you _want,_ Sanji?”

“I-I don’t fucking know, alright? I just know that it’s different now. I feel…different.”

“Well, what changed?” Zoro asked him—he was asking himself the same question and desperately wishing that, whatever it was, they might be on the same page for once.

“You didn’t come to the New Year’s party.”

“That isn’t exactly new, Cook.”

“I know, and I barely even noticed last year. We’d already been fucking for a few months, but I showed up with some random girl who I’d met at the bar. You weren’t there, of course, and I don’t think I spared you a single thought the entire night.”

“…Is this going somewhere? Because I can’t help but be at least a _little_ insulted.”

“It’s not like you gave anymore of a shit than I did. My point is that this year, I noticed. I _could_ have picked someone up at the bar—I could’ve stayed at Nami’s party and gone out with everyone afterward. If I hadn’t come here, I could’ve brought someone home and gotten laid like you said—but I _wanted_ to come. I wasn’t wondering where you were all night because I wanted to have sex, which is why I realized that things are different than before—for me at least. I don’t know when it started, but I...I just…miss you when you’re gone.”

Zoro sucked in a sharp breath, certain that he must have heard the other man wrong, but the look on Sanji’s face was genuine; the swordsman recognized his expression from staring at his own face in the mirror—it was a complicated mixture of frustration and confusion, hopeless pining, and a whole lot of self-loathing. He searched through his memory for anything that could have hinted that the cook had felt this way, but he was at a loss…or maybe he’d just stopped looking before Sanji had even begun realizing it himself.  

He didn’t know what to say—it was utterly pathetic. The cook was expressing actual emotion with regard to the swordsman, and Zoro was too shocked by the revelation that the other man apparently had some strings attached after all to even formulate a response. His heart was beating so hard that he swore he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and he couldn’t look the other man in the eye because he was afraid that his internal panic would be immediately obvious.

“Is that crazy?” Sanji asked him hesitantly. “I mean, do you even care about me aside from the fact that I’m a good lay, or did I already dig my own grave when I agreed to this whole thing?”

His tone was depressingly dispirited, as if he’d already decided that Zoro _would_ think he was crazy for even bothering to ask. The swordsman identified with that hopelessness since he himself had thought that the cook was content with the way things were and only ever interacted with him for sex.

The swordsman leaned in automatically, drawn to the blond’s unusually timid appearance. It was surprisingly painful to see Sanji like this because Zoro was used to him being the brightest thing in the room, always brimming with an annoying excess of confidence and his signature I-do-what-I-want-and-don’t-take-any-fucks attitude. He couldn't help but dwell on the fact that the cook’s melancholy was affecting him on a physical level, and it hurt him deeply to know that hewas the cause of it.

“Sanji…” he began carefully, cringing inwardly when the other man stiffened beside him on the couch and refused to meet his eyes. “At least look at me, will you?” he asked, leaning his forehead against the cook’s ear and placing a hand overtop of his clenched fist, which twitched slightly but otherwise didn’t respond to the swordsman's touch.

“Don’t,” Sanji said shakily, voice betraying his emotion. “I’m fine. Don’t touch me—it’ll just make this harder.”

“Can you quit wallowing in self-pity for two seconds? You’ve got it all wrong,” Zoro told him, prompting the blond to finally turn and look at him with half confusion and half suspicion. “Don’t fucking scare me like that, Cook—suddenly saying that you want to stop doing this. I always expected you to call it off eventually, but I’m not just gonna sit here and let you walk out over something this stupid.”

They were so close that he could see the blond’s pupils dilate as he looked at the swordsman, lips parting slightly as he inhaled a sharp breath. Zoro wanted to kiss him so badly, but he knew that he had to explain himself first so that the other man understood that he wanted this too. As much as Sanji annoyed him to no end and could piss him off more easily than any other person in the world, the swordsman was sure that he cared about the blond just as much—probably more—which was why he had never allowed himself to think on it for fear of discovering a deeper attachment. It was about damn time they _both_ dropped the denial. 

“Tell me what you want, Sanji.”

“I—I want…”

The unmistakable blush that dusted the cook’s cheeks, and the quick glance that flitted to the swordsman’s own lips, broke Zoro’s flimsy control in an instant. He gripped the hand that was still laying under his and drew it forward, turning Sanji’s body to face him as he covered the cook's mouth with his own. He wanted to reassure him that his fears were needless, so he kissed him like never before—slowly and non-invasively rather than hard and lustful like they were used to. It clearly surprised him because he broke the kiss with a small gasp and jerked back to frown at the swordsman, seeming flustered by Zoro’s advance.  

“I said I didn’t come hear to fuck,” he reminded him, attempting to pull his hand back. The swordsman held it tighter, guiding it to his mouth to press a light kiss on the other man’s knuckles. Sanji flushed instantly, and Zoro let him jerk it away this time, smirking at the cook’s startled response.

“It was just a kiss,” he remarked innocently.

“Oh yeah? Name one time we’ve kissed where it didn’t lead to sex—and interruptions don’t count,” he said shakily, wringing his hands in a nervous gesture.

“Fair enough. Actually, there _was_ one time, but I doubt you’d remember it.”

“If I was too drunk to finish then it also doesn’t count.”

“No, it was one of the mornings when I had to get up really early for work. Remember when your dad went back to France to visit his old college buddy?”

“Of course—I think we literally fucked on every surface in my house,” he said with surprising fondness.

“You were pretty tired out.”

“So were you!”

“Yeah, but I had to get up for work and didn’t want to wake you. We’d passed out in your bed, and you had your arms and legs wrapped all around me, so I accidentally disturbed you when I tried to slip out. You mumbled something about it being your day off, I told you that I’d leave so you could go back to sleep, and then you just…kissed me. You rolled over and fell asleep immediately though.”

“No, I—I don’t remember that,” he said awkwardly.

“You were half-asleep...probably thought I was somebody else,” Zoro told him placatingly, but Sanji shook his head in denial.

“I would’ve known it was you. Sometimes I have dreams like that—maybe I thought it was one of them,” he explained.

“Dreams like what?”

“Just normal dreams…where we don’t have to hide,” he admitted quietly, surprising the swordsman again. He wondered if he could ever get used to Sanji like this—a Sanji who was open and honest about his feelings…and had feelings for _him._

“Is that why you wanted to talk to me? You don’t want to keep sneaking around?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I think I’d be less concerned about people finding out if I knew what this actually _was._ The problem is that I don’t really know where we stand anymore. It’s been going on for so long that I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act when we’re _not_ having sex. It’s confusing.”

“Well, I don’t know how you thought we were gonna clear it up while getting steadily drunker,” Zoro told him wryly, taking a moment to swig some more rum for effect. “Stop overanalyzing it before you kill your buzz. I don’t mind re-examining the relationship—dare I call it that—because clearly it isn’t working with all these stupid rules. Why don’t we just…get rid of ‘em?”

“What do you mean?” Sanji asked with a hint of hopefulness.

“For one thing, we can stop assuming that kissing is an automatic signal for sex. It might actually be nice to just kiss for no reason.”

“No reason…?”

“Yeah. Don’t you usually kiss people because you want to, not because you want something?”

“Besides you, I’ve only ever kissed women—and they _always_ wanted something.”

“Where the hell do you find these chicks? It's a little sad for a chef to have bad taste in women, ain't it?” 

“Hardy har har. I happen to enjoy the imbalance—it allows me to shower the ladies with _all_ of my affection, which isn't a crime last I checked. The real crime is how long it's been since I touched a woman," he said with sincerity. Zoro's brain stuttered to a halt. He stared at the love-cook like the man had just admitted to not having cooked for a while, which was just as integral to his personality as him being a ladies’ man.

“Since when? You’ve always got a girl on the side,” he found himself saying.

“Tch. Shows how much _you_ pay attention—I haven’t fucked anyone else in three months.”

 _“Really?!”_ Zoro asked him incredulously.

“D-don’t get the wrong idea—it's just that you’ve been extra horny recently, and even _I_ don’t have unlimited stamina.”

“You’re taking two steps forward and one step back, Cook. Either admit that you want this to be exclusive or invent a better excuse to cover your ass—pick one or the other.”

“But I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to. I know you better than you think, Sanji.”

“Since you’re so smart, what am I thinking about?”

“You’re thinking that you want to kiss me again, but you don’t want me to _know_ that you want to. It’s written all over your terrible drunken poker-face.”

“Well, if I’m so terrible at hiding my expressions then you claiming to know me is bullshit, isn’t it?”

“Touché...Are you gonna do it or not?” he pressed, leaning into the other man’s personal space.

“Not,” Sanji told him stubbornly, crossing his arms in defiance. The gesture reminded Zoro of why he loved this man who could be so bloody infuriating sometimes that it made him want to pull his hair out in frustration.

“You’re such a pain in my ass,” he said exasperatingly, closing the distance between them to silence the cook’s inevitably witty retort with another passionate kiss.

This time Sanji turned towards him fully, surrendering to Zoro’s insistent mouth as it moved against his with practiced ease. They continued with their previous pace, falling into a sweet rhythm that complimented the languid atmosphere created by the warm alcohol slowing their bodies’ movements. The cook hummed pleasantly, initiating a shiver that spread from where the vibrations began in Zoro’s lips to every inch of his skin.

The swordsman was already on Cloud-fucking-Nine, and they were barely even touching. He’d always liked kissing Sanji, but this was completely different from their typical interactions. Sure, they’d had lazy sex before with similar slow smooches, but both of them had always been under the impression that it didn’t _mean_ anything—it was just a kiss, a simple touch, the physical act of sex between consenting adults—and at the end of the day, they would go their separate ways and never speak of it beyond closed doors. That was the routine.

 _Fuck the routine_ , he thought. It had gotten them nothing but secrets, lies, and angst.

“C’mere,” Zoro said breathlessly, gesturing for the cook to come closer so that their bodies could fit neatly together on the couch. Sanji didn’t hesitate to lean in and recapture the swordsman’s lips, but he quickly became impatient with Zoro’s awkward fumbling and chose to simply throw a leg over the other man’s waist and effectively straddle him. His lean figure seemed to melt into the swordsman’s arms, which instantly slid around his torso to hold it tightly against Zoro’s chest.

Sanji made a soft sound of pleasure when lips pressed against the hollow of his throat before returning to his previous mission of fusing them together at the mouth. The swordsman responded to the new position with enthusiasm, shifting his hands to feel the muscles along the curves of the cook’s back.

Although the slim blond might not look it, he was incredibly toned from years of martial arts and heavy-lifting in his father’s restaurant. Where Zoro was more heavily built with noticeable bulk, Sanji’s strength was more graceful in its subtlety. He was impressively lean and flexible—and _damn_ did he take advantage of those qualities, especially in bed. He drove women wild whenever he managed to restrain his eccentricities long enough to bed one, and the swordsman had always been equally affected, if not more, since he was sure that the cook was much less reserved when there wasn't a lady present.

Zoro was lucky enough to be able to experience the full wildness that was contained in that lithe body because Sanji was perhaps just as affected by _him_ and had long since given up trying to act cool and collected—or at least, not when they were fucking. He doubted that the cook’s neighbors had ever heard him scream like that when a _woman_ stayed the night, whereas the two of them had actually been publicly reprimanded for their late-night romps (which were understandably a nuisance to the neighbors due to the thin walls in the blond’s apartment).

Sanji was not holding back tonight either, and he hadn’t lost any of his usual ability to kiss, having developed the skill so thoroughly that he barely even had to think about it. Zoro was pleasantly surprised to feel that the blond was already getting hard despite his intoxication, but he supressed his own desire out of respect for Kuina—it just wouldn’t feel right to ignore his previous decision and have sex with the cook when his heart wasn’t in it, but that didn’t mean he was going to leave the other man unsatisfied.

“Mmm…let me get you off,” he mumbled against Sanji’s lips, gripping his belt-buckle in a clear gesture for permission.

“But you said—”

“I said I didn’t want to fuck, not that I didn’t want to touch you.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to—”

“Please?” Zoro asked him in a deceptively pleasant tone, voice slowly deepening when he added, “I like it when you’re desperate...and I really want to watch you come.”

Sanji did something then that the swordsman could never have predicted—not from a man as prideful as the cook. He continued the kiss without hesitation, crushing their lips together and moaning unabashedly against Zoro’s willing mouth. His fingers moved from where they’d been resting on the swordsman’s shoulder-blades to the collar of his own dress-shirt, making quick work of the buttons and exposing a delicious strip of flushed skin. The unexpected sound of his arousal made it much more difficult for Zoro to control his body’s reactions, prompting him to coax the cook off of his lap with a pointed tug of his waistband.

Sanji reluctantly shifted back into his seat, but he broke into a wide grin when the swordsman followed the movement and pinned him bodily against the couch cushions. They kissed more frantically, hands gripping at loose fabric to pull each other closer until the cook let out a small, needy whine and began grinding his hips up against Zoro’s. The swordsman immediately replaced his hand on the blond’s belt to undo the buckle and zipper before breaking their kiss to lean back and gaze down at Sanji’s panting form.

It was a tantalizingly erotic sight to witness the slim man sprawled out on his back, shirt hanging open and chest heaving, with his long legs spread to accommodate the other man in the limited space. Perhaps it was the alcohol affecting him, but Sanji’s expression was completely unrestrained, eyes openly begging for the swordsman to follow through on his word. He hadn’t even bothered to fix his hair when it fell out of place, baring his entire face for scrutiny.

“Someone’s a little impatient tonight,” Zoro commented heatedly, ducking his head to press a reverent kiss against the hard planes of the cook’s stomach and causing the muscles there to flex instinctively in anticipation.

“Shut up and _hurry_ up, marimo,” Sanji snapped, squeezing his thighs around the other man for emphasis. Zoro responded by grabbing the waist of the blond’s pants and shooting him a wicked grin as he began an infuriatingly slow, purposeful drag over the prominent budge straining against the remaining fabric of his boxers. The cook let out a stuttered breath as he lay back and endured the mild torture of waiting for the swordsman to reveal those gorgeous legs inch by inch.

Hell, Zoro thought he could stare at Sanji’s fucking legs _forever_ —they were without a doubt the cook’s best feature, which was saying something since the rest of him was so attractive that it was hardly fair. The swordsman knew that if sex were a beauty contest, he would certainly lose to the blond despite knowing full-well that he wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes. There was just something so graceful about the way that Sanji moved. The compacted strength rippling under pale skin, dusted faintly with pink from their mild exertions, was elegant in its effortlessness.

He was more beautiful than any woman Zoro had seen, because he was a living juxtaposition; Sanji was simultaneously masculine and feminine, hard and soft, innocent and dirty—contrasting aspects that were rarely in perfect balance, which meant that he was all the more interesting and impossible to predict. Zoro loved that he didn’t seemed to realize the effect he had on people nor was the cook the sort of person who would take advantage of that fact even if he did.

The swordsman removed the other man’s clothes like he was unwrapping a present, or perhaps a delicious dessert. He was embarrassed to admit that his mouth actually watered when he imagined what he was about to do next, and suddenly he couldn’t continue with his teasing pace without becoming impatient himself. Instead he pulled Sanji’s pants off the rest of the way and tossed them aside before sliding his hand unceremoniously into the cook’s boxers, gripping his erection with practiced ease.

The delicious arch of his back in response to the swordsman’s touch was accompanied by a shameless moan that sent shivers down Zoro’s spine. He fucking loved hearing that deep, smoky voice expressing blatant desire, especially when Sanji didn’t restrain himself.

It hadn’t always been like that—in fact, the first few times they’d had sex had been nothing but quick, purposeful thrusts and silent gasps. It had taken everything the cook had to even admit to himself that he was interested in sex with a man in the first place, so once they’d finally gotten around to doing it, he had made sure to police every move and sound that he made.

That had only lasted for a few weeks though, until Zoro finally broke his careful control by doing the _last_ thing the cook had expected—he stopped the blond in the middle of their rushed foreplay and demanded that Sanji fuck _him_ , and the swordsman had not bothered to restrain himself at all. The mild embarrassment he’d felt while exposing himself so shamefully had been entirely worth it when he saw the cook’s expression afterward.

He had looked like a man who’d just had his mind blown wide open and then stitched back together with all of the secrets to the universe enclosed inside. Needless to say, Sanji quickly discovered that he’d been missing out on some seriously hot sex, deciding of his own accord to be more open about his lust for the other man. What had followed was a truly amazing period involving some of the kinkiest shit Zoro had ever experienced, much of which he hadn’t even _heard_ of before. Seriously, the love-cook was a complete freak, and neither of them was particularly surprised by that fact.

Eventually, their conflicting personalities had caused a series of arguments, resulting in a lot of heated tension and too many screaming matches to count, which meant that there was a transitional period of extremely angry sex that left them both bruised and sore for months on end. During that time, Zoro had discovered that he was just as fucked up as the cook because he hadn’t been able to resist starting fights on purpose—mostly due to the fact that their sparring often led to what he still considered to be some of his absolute favourite fucks of all time.

Then, the increasing number of all-nighters and vicious power struggles had started affecting both of their abilities to perform simple tasks (Sanji had actually knocked him out-cold after the swordsman had jokingly suggested they get matching chairs with holes in the seats like the ones that old people used to piss in.) After that, they’d been forced to resolve some of their issues before one of them literally killed the other in a horny fit of rage.

The most recent phase of their relationship had been somewhat of a mixture between all three with the addition of the occasional classic vanilla, which they both secretly enjoyed because it allowed them to explore the quieter, more sensual side of sex. Zoro honestly learned more about Sanji’s body during those casual encounters than from any other dynamic, and he was currently kicking himself internally for misunderstanding the current state of things.

Somehow, emotions had surfaced amidst all of the rigorous fucking and hesitant late-night caresses until they’d ended up here—taking shots on Zoro’s couch and spilling their guts about _feelings._ Despite the toxic masculinity that usually dictated how they interacted with one another, the swordsman had no doubt that this was what he truly wanted, gender roles be damned. Seeing Sanji stretched out beneath him, warm cock twitching eagerly in his hand, made Zoro want to shed tears of joy and get down on his knees to say a thankful prayer to whatever God might be listening for his good fortune. If the cook didn’t end up changing his mind about the whole thing after sobering up, then the swordsman thought that he might just be the luckiest fucker in the world.

Sanji-goddamn-Blackleg actually wanted to date the shitty-swordsman who had brazenly mocked the cook’s unique fighting style one day at the gym. That had been two years ago, but Zoro _still_ felt the phantom pain from Sanji’s enraged kick whenever he remembered the heavy blow to his abdomen that had dropped the seasoned swordsman like a stone, forcing his breakfast from his stomach in front of the same crowd that he’d just shit-talked the blond to.

He remembered the unimpressed look on Sanji’s face as he’d stared down at Zoro’s coughing form, lighting a cigarette with deceptively graceful motions despite the clear no-smoking signs posted on the walls.

“Maybe that’ll teach you not to count your fucking chickens before they hatch, bastard. A real man doesn’t need hulking muscles and a handful of metal sticks to be a good fighter.”

“Who’s counting their chickens prematurely, now?” Zoro half-wheezed. “You’re quick, but that little exchange wasn’t a _real_ fight…Come back tomorrow and we’ll see which one of us is the best.”

Sanji must have recognized the honest respect in the swordsman’s eyes because he didn’t hesitate to shoot the defeated man a cocky smirk and offer him a hand up. “Alright, marimo…you’re on.”

“What the hell did you just call me?!”

“Sanji,” the blond said, ignoring the look of confusion on the other man’s face and silently holding his hand out until Zoro reluctantly accepted the gesture. Instead of immediately letting go after helping him to his feet, the cook shook his hand with practiced ease, repeating what the swordsman now realized was a flippant introduction.

“Oh, uh…I’m Zoro,” he said awkwardly, releasing the blond’s hand to rub at the increasingly sore patch under his ribs.

“Three swords, huh? Overcompensating much?” the cook said drawlingly.

“You want to find out?” Zoro shot back without thinking, which was the first of many unintentional innuendos that he would eventually say to the dirty-minded cook. Sanji had always been the bigger pervert of the two, so it made sense that he’d been the one to initially propose the arrangement once he’d discovered his attraction to the greenhaired man (although, “propose” wasn’t really an accurate term to describe how he’d knocked them both down during a vicious spar and had proceeded to frantically remove their clothes.)

“Oi…bastard…are you gonna keep fucking spacing-out or get me off like you’d planned?!” Sanji said irritably, breaking the swordsman out of his fond reverie.

Zoro dropped an apologetic kiss on the other man’s thigh, pausing with his lips tantalizingly close to the base of his cock. He was still holding it firmly in his hand, but the swordsman couldn’t resist grinning up at Sanji’s flushed face across the perfect angle that skimmed the length of the cook’s torso, his erection standing tall in Zoro’s peripheral. He suddenly wished that he had a camera to capture the image. _Hell, it would be a dream come true if he let me take pictures of him during sex,_ the swordsman thought distractedly, and then immediately shook himself back to reality. _I really am spacing-out…I’m just gonna suck his dick._

Zoro’s thought was punctuated by the sound of the cook’s grateful moan, which quickly turned into a moan of pleasure when his eager cock was finally enveloped in wet heat. He squirmed impatiently while his boxers were carefully removed, leaving him completely naked. Then, the swordsman did something that Sanji himself couldn’t decide whether or not he enjoyed—he slid his hands along the length of the cook’s legs, gripping him confidently by the backs of his thighs and draping them over his shoulders so he could comfortably continue the task at hand (or rather, mouth).

The swordsman was determined to give Sanji the best blowjob of his life—and he’d given some damn good head in the past. One of the most surprising things that the cook had learned, which annoyed him just as much as it excited him, was that Zoro shared his oral fixation and could suck him off with nearly as much skill as the talented blond.

Everything was a competition, after all, and the swordsman really hated to lose.

Sanji was not holding back either, squirming openly in response to each of Zoro’s movements as he skillfully smoothed his lips along the other man’s shaft. Keeping still had never been one of the cook’s strengths since he was incredibly sensitive to touch and usually hated to give the swordsman complete control over the action. Every time Zoro slid his mouth to the base of his cock, Sanji would unconsciously roll his hips deeper into the thrust and tense his legs to force the swordsman toward him.

Eventually the sharp heels digging into Zoro’s back became distracting, so he placed a firm hand on the blond man’s thigh and slowly removed his mouth long enough to say, “Relax, Cook. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fuck—don’t stop or I’ll never come. It’s hard enough to keep an erection when I’m this drunk,” he replied breathlessly.

“You’re thinking too much. Just enjoy yourself and let me worry about that. There’s no rush,” he told him smoothly, running a soothing hand along the cook’s legs until they slowly relaxed against him.

“Everythin’s spinning,” he commented absently. Any further observations were silenced by the swordsman’s tongue dragging over the sensitive head of his cock, mouth locking around the tip and sucking appreciatively at the sticky fluid beading there. He decided to continue with a moderate pace so that the cook’s orgasm could slowly reach its peak, extending the moment of release until the last possible second. Sanji was surprisingly patient after he finally managed to relax into the couch, eyes closed and fingers carding gently through the swordsman’s green hair with casual affection.

Zoro let out a pleased moan when the cook’s grip instinctively tightened, signalling that he was about to come, but it seemed like Sanji himself was unaware that he had given this sign because his surprised gasp at the suddenness of the orgasm indicated that he hadn’t expected it to be over so quickly. The swordsman sucked him off through the waves of intense pleasure until his breathing subsided and his fingers resumed their slow caresses, pressing a kiss against the cook’s inner thigh and slipping out from underneath his long legs. Sanji sat up with him, frowning down at the mess he’d made on his stomach and torso before wordlessly standing to retrieve a washcloth from the kitchen.

Zoro appreciated the comfortable silences they shared, which were especially welcome after sex because there was nothing more tedious than having to comment on the performance every single time they finished. Despite the awkwardness of having to admit that they’d become emotionally entangled with each other, the sex itself was still routine, so they didn’t need to waste words discussing something that, for once, they actually agreed on. Zoro had always been better at understanding actions anyway, so he was especially amused when Sanji’s next words reached him from the kitchen.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, marimo.”

That thoughtful remark was immediately followed by the sound of Sanji’s hasty footsteps in the hall, the loud slamming of the bathroom door, and approximately seven minutes of periodic vomiting. Zoro laughed himself hoarse during the first five and then schooled his face into neutrality before the cook returned—an expression which he managed to hold for five entire seconds after catching sight of the blond’s comically irritable grimace.

“It’s. Not. Funny,” he growled in response to Zoro’s amused grin.

“It’s a _little_ funny.”

“And you’re a little psychotic.”

“Are you really going to call the kettle black, Mr. Pot?”

“Fuck off, at least Mr. Pot isn’t an alcoholic like _some_ people who drink whiskey with breakfast.”

“I never drink with breakfast—I eat breakfast so I'll have solid food in my stomach to go with my drink,” Zoro replied teasingly, taking another swig from the rum Sanji had brought him. The cook watched him swallow with an exaggerated shiver and retrieved a pitcher of cold water from the fridge, bringing them each a glass when he returned to the couch. “No thanks, I’m still in mourning,” he explained, refusing the offered drink with a toast-like gesture of the rum bottle towards his mantle.

Sanji glanced at the row of photographs there, pausing on a particularly lovely picture of Kuina at her last kendo competition. She was smiling brightly in her gi, which proudly displayed their family’s crest, while waving a first-place medal above her head. He set down the glasses and hesitantly moved to retrieve the frame for a closer look, inspecting it in silence for longer than Zoro thought necessary.

“You look really happy for her,” he said finally, taking a seat beside the swordsman and handing him the frame. It took a moment for him to realize that the cook’s gaze had been lingering not on Kuina but on the image of his sixteen-year-old self in the background. Zoro had never noticed himself in that particular photo before, but he _did_ look happy wearing the rare, unbridled smile that only his sister had ever brought out of him. Now that she was gone, he’d forgotten how the expression looked on his face.

Zoro thought about how many times the cook had jokingly talked about meeting his gorgeous older sister, so he was mildly surprised (and rather impressed) that Sanji hadn’t even acknowledged the fact that Kuina was indeed a beautiful young woman. Instead he was wondering about Zoro—how _he_ had felt after she’d won—and that was possibly the most flattering and tasteful thing he could have done. The swordsman stared at the photo and let his feelings overwhelm him, glad to discover that her image didn’t bring him distress anymore—only a deep sense of longing that he thought would never go away—but it was a healthy longing that meant he still missed her even though he’d accepted her death.

“Do you…do you think she would’ve liked me?” Sanji asked him with a wry smile that Zoro mirrored.

“No way,” he responded instantly, causing the cook to shoot him an offended scowl. “She definitely would’ve hated you.”

“Aw, come on! She’s dead—couldn’t you have at least lied to make me feel better?”

“You’re not her type. Kuina hated skirt-chasers, and you’re the worst because you don’t even do it with the intention of having sex—it’s just how you naturally are around women, and she would’ve found it annoying as hell.”

“Ouch. Don’t you think you’re cutting a little deep, fucker?”

“That wouldn’t have stopped me though,” Zoro added, meeting the cook’s eyes with an intensity that made the cook’s mouth go dry.

“Stopped you from what?”

“From getting involved with you. I don’t need anyone’s approval for that, dead or alive.”

“Gee, that makes me feel _so_ much better,” Sanji replied moodily, but his cheeks reddened slightly at the swordsman’s honest confession, and it was obvious that Zoro’s words meant more to him than he was letting on. “You seem to agree with her on everything else about me, so why the hell would you even want to continue seeing someone so unpleasant?” he asked in spite of himself.

“Who said anything about unpleasant? I happen to like your unlikable qualities.”

“Would you _like_ me to kill you because—”

“Let me finish before you threaten me, Cook. It might’ve been annoying at first, but I’ve since got used to all of your eccentricities, and now I know a lot more about you—more than what you let most people see. I guess I feel like I understand you. If my sister were alive, I’m sure she’d be overprotective and worried that you might hurt me, but I also know that she would’ve trusted my judgement and eventually grown to love you like I do.”

The cook sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening as the resulting silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity. Zoro realized what he’d said by the bewildered look on Sanji’s face, but he chose to embrace the silence instead of correcting himself.

“You just said that you love me,” the cook stated, dumbfounded.

“I'm glad your ears still work—any other updates?”

“Don’t try and distract me with half-assed witticisms. I can’t ignore a slip like that—everybody knows that the L-word is serious business.”

“You sound like a teenager.”

“So do you—we’re _both_ still technically teenagers, dumbass. I think I’m entitled to be confused when you suddenly drop a bomb like that on me.”

“Sorry, you know I don't always think before I speak…but I _was_ being serious,” he admitted. Sanji hadn’t thought it was possible, but the swordsman actually looked _shy._ “It’s not a big deal, Cook.”

“Don’t lie to me, asshole. You either mean it or you don’t. You’re not exactly the kind of person who says those things lightly.”

“Of course I mean it. I just don’t want you overthinking things and stressing out. I never mentioned it before because I knew that it would just cause imbalance between us, and you’d end up freaking yourself out.”

“...There’s no imbalance,” Sanji replied quietly, training his eyes on his fidgeting hands to avoid looking at the swordsman. Zoro noticed the tension in his posture and waited patiently for him to continue instead of questioning him. He had never quite understood the phrase, “waiting with bated breath,” but now he could feel the suspense building until his whole body resonated with it.

“I’ve probably loved you for a long time,” the cook told him with a wistful smile.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“That was sort of the point. I kept telling myself that it didn’t matter because it was just a fling—those feelings would go away once we stopped seeing each other.”

“Do you still think that?”

“No. If I could go back in time and tell myself that I'd eventually feel this way, I'd probably laugh in my own face for saying something so ridiculous...but that’s how it is.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?” the swordsman asked him with feigned seriousness.

“Zoro…did we catch goddamn feelings?”

“Apparently, and just in time, too—look at the clock.”

“It’s almost midnight. Wait, you’re not actually suggesting what I think you are, are you?”

Zoro shot him a mischievous grin and started digging in the couch cushions for the TV remote. “I’m putting on the countdown. We need to christen the new year with a timeless tradition.”

“Seriously? You want us to sit here like awkward children and kiss when it hits midnight?”

“Why not? I’ve always been too drunk and depressed to bother with it in the past, so I’ve never even had a New Year’s kiss. Don’t you want to be my first?” Zoro asked him slyly.

Sanji responded with an exaggerated eye roll, but he didn’t refuse the suggestion. “Fuck it, I’ll humor you,” he decided, retrieving a bottle of red wine from the rack that was solely dedicated to storing the cook’s liquor bottles. Zoro never touched them because it was all too fancy for his tastes, but since it was a special occasion, he let the blond pour him a glass before they got into position for the final countdown.

 _10…9…8…_ “This is so stupid.” _…7…6…5…_ “You’re stupid, Cook. Isn’t this exactly the sort of cheesy, romantic shit you like?” _…4…3…2…_ “Shut up, moss-head, you’re gonna miss it!”... _1._

They kissed as the clock chimed on the hour, savouring the moment when their lips touched before slowly deepening the kiss. Zoro kept it short and sweet to avoid rekindling his poor libido, but even that brief moment of passion threatened to undo him. He kept himself in check by thinking about his sister—wondering if she were somehow able to see them and if she knew how perfectly happy he was right now. He thought that if she could, she would be glad to see her brother in better spirits than he'd been in for a long time.

“Happy New Year, Sanji.”

“Happy New Year!” he repeated emphatically, handing the swordsman a glass of wine and raising his own with a sultry grin. “A toast…to the lovely Kuina.”

Zoro made a show of clinking their glasses and sipping the drink, never letting his gaze leave the cook’s eyes. He could still feel the ghost of the blond’s mouth against his and imagined many, many more midnights with this man. Now that they had finally figured out what they were, there were endless possibilities for what they could become and years to discover just how deep love could be. The swordsman grinned in anticipation, holding his glass up for a second toast to their new beginning.  

“To something different,” he said softly, capturing Sanji’s lips again. They kissed for no other reason than because they wanted to, and Zoro decided that he was never going to miss another New Year’s party again.

** The End **

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this AU story! Please let me know what you think, and thank you for reading! :)


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